


Mine

by TimeToRemember



Category: Wicked Lovely Series - Melissa Marr
Genre: Accidental inclusion of feelings, Anal Fingering, But It Seems Realistic, Consensual Sex, Dark Court, Emotions, Established Relationship, Faeries - Freeform, Faery courts, Gabriel Lives, Hand Jobs, Kissing, Long Hair, M/M, Male Slash, Niall is King, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Restraints, Scars, Sex, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-15 21:49:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1320394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimeToRemember/pseuds/TimeToRemember
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is my take on Niall and Irial's eventual relationship after the events of the <i>Wicked Lovely</i> series and the short stories featuring Niall and Irial in Melissa Marr's <i>Faery Tales and Nightmares</i>.</p><p>In which Niall has been very busy, and Irial thinks it's time he enjoyed himself.</p><p>Or, more truly, the fic in which they <i>play</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mine

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own neither the books mentioned nor the characters used.

“No - _no._ I cannot. Iri, I – “ The rest of what would probably have been a reasonably coherent sentence was lost in a drawn-out whine as his body twisted off the bed, pulling at the restraints that held him to it. A moment later, he sank back down and somehow calmed himself, imposing an impressive level of control. His eyes snapped open, and in gloriously dark irises shadowy figures were entwined, moving sinuously to a beat only they could hear. They were the eyes of the Dark King, and they demanded instant obedience.

Niall was bound, hand and foot, to the large four-poster bed that dominated his bedroom, tied in place by the restraints that had once been used in Rabbit’s shop for the Ink Exchanges. A short word to one of the Hounds that had decided he found Irial amusing, and he’d taken a trip to the wrecked shop to pick them up. He’d managed to get them into the house and into the room without Niall finding out – he’d been absorbed with court business – and now there was this. 

Irial had suggested it with uncharacteristic hesitance, prepared for an immediate refusal, but Niall’s eyes had darkened at the mere thought, and he’d later accepted the bindings, radiating and exhibiting a level of trust that had made Irial’s breath catch sharply in his throat. Before he’d taken to the bed he’d stripped, tossing leather jacket, shirt, boots, trousers and underwear to the floor with the same measured economy of movement that characterized his movements during a fight.

It hadn’t left Irial unaffected.

Niall had lain back on the bed, calm and sure, and Irial had tied him to it, stretching out that long, lithe body into an X on the soft black silk sheets. A few moments of prep that Niall submitted to with a further sharpening of his gaze, then Irial had slowly pressed a lubricated finger into him, and then, quickly, a second – because Niall was stronger than most and not breakable, not anymore, and maybe he hadn’t really been then – watching keenly as Niall twitched then settled. Hard-won muscle had flexed beneath scarred skin as Niall had tested the restraints, and then he’d just settled back, dark eyes fixed unerringly, challengingly, upon Irial as he, too, stripped, impatiently tossing his clothes aside.

That was then.

Now, Niall twisted his body upwards, again and again, desperate to create some give, to free himself. His body was slick with sweat from his exertions, hair that he’d finally let grow out plastered to his skin, and he was left him with little purchase on the sheets, but there was a raw, coiled power in every movement, even stymied as it was, that suggested to Irial that something was going to get broken soon if he didn’t get his way.

Black eyes dilated as Niall threw his head back against the pillow, curses slipping between his lips as Irial pressed in further, grazing his prostate, and Irial surged forwards, helpless to resist, drowning in lust and love and want and possessiveness and _need_ until he didn’t know what was his and what was Niall’s. Their lips met in a bruising kiss that had Niall biting at him, drawing blood, and then more tenderly as Irial’s body settled flush against his.

They were still, for a long moment, Niall panting as his pulse settled slowly, Irial clinging to his tenuous control, and then that dangerous wickedness flared anew in Irial’s gaze, and Niall’s eyes drifted shut as Irial’s other hand closed around his cock, assuming a slow, teasing rhythm that had in the past proven itself more than capable of reducing Niall to incoherency. Each grazing touch was far too light, far too brief to give Niall what he wanted, even combined with the unceasing activity of his other hand, but was at the same time just enough to prevent him from thinking about, well, _anything._

Irial released him to trail his hand casually up his shaft, barely grazing him with the tips of his fingers, and Niall’s jaw clenched again as he bit down on his bottom lip, preventing himself from making a sound. Irial grinned down at him, bright and unrepentant and glorious, and then his thumb ghosted over the head of Niall’s cock and pressed firmly into the slit, and Niall’s hips jerked up involuntarily as the climax that had lingered tantalizingly close for so long suddenly became attainable.

And then Irial’s grip tightened around the base, strong and unyielding, and it faded again, out of reach but never out of mind, and Niall sank back down on the bed, black eyes flashing back open. “Fucker.” The curse was perfectly articulated and _oh so filthy_ , imbued with burning, heated lust, and Irial immediately lost sight of his end-game.

Irial chuckled, deep and dark, and kissed him, curling his tongue deep into Niall’s mouth. Niall wanted to resist, felt in a dim, fuzzy way that as King he should be calling the shots, and then he was returning the favour, pressing deep into Irial’s mouth, lost in the taste of him.

When Irial finally pulled back, Niall was gratified to see he too had lost his composure. 

Something of that must have shown, for then Irial closed the gap again, and Niall felt his lips press gently to the jagged scar bisecting his face. Niall shifted impatiently, shying away from the awareness in Irial's eyes of the sudden jolt of affection Niall felt for him, and, worse, his own awareness that Irial felt exactly the same, and then Irial’s fingers slipped from his ass and he lifted his arm, sticky fingers threading through Niall’s hair to hold his head in place. 

The state of his hair didn’t even register on the periphery of Niall's thoughts, but he growled nonetheless, a low animalistic sound as he found his ass clenching in complaint at the sudden loss, and he was suddenly frustrated beyond all conscious thought at how Irial was _playing_ with him, but then the strong grip Irial had on his cock loosened, and he began to stroke him with considerably more purpose, faster and stronger and harder and – 

¬– and Niall could feel it coming, any moment now, when the molten lava in his veins would light up white-hot and everything that wasn’t him and Irial would fade to nothing and the world could end for all he cared and – 

– Irial’s hand tightened around him for the second time. 

Niall’s body went rigid on the bed, every muscle tensed, back arched, and then iron-hard focus slammed down over the lust in his black gaze.

“Irial.” Niall’s tone was low, dark, and precise, the thin knife slid between two ribs in a dark alleyway. Even now, flushed, desperate and wanton, he radiated power and strength; firm in the authority he would fight and kill for.

“My King.” Irial all-but purred his reply, satisfaction and contentment mixing with lust and wonder in the manifestation of seduction and chaotic darkness, as if he couldn’t quite believe that this was happening, even after all this time. 

Then his hand tightened around him again, and Niall’s body twitched involuntarily, drawing ever tighter as each breath turned into a ragged pant, and Irial’s hand was _finally_ moving in a ceaseless, relentless rhythm, up and down and up and down, and Irial’s lips were on his neck and biting into his skin and everything went white.

Niall opened his eyes to find Irial only inches away with the same look of languorous satisfaction that he knew had to be reflected in his own expression, and he didn't need to look down to see that Irial had also reached completion. Slowly, without looking away, Irial reached up, unlocking his wrists, and Niall dropped his arms to his sides as Irial twisted around to free his ankles, tossing the restraints carelessly to the floor.

He turned back, and Niall reached out, dragging him into a kiss that began full of heat and ended gently, in lingering tenderness. 

Sometime during the course of it they ended up laid back down on the ruffled sheets, but as they separated, Niall shook himself as if he had woken from a long sleep, and turned, preparing to rise. Irial’s hand closed quickly on his shoulder, stopping him, and Niall stilled, turning his head to meet Irial’s gaze.

“Stay?” Irial asked, uncharacteristically soft. 

“The court, Irial – “

“Will not destroy itself if you remain in bed just a little longer,” Irial finished for him, dark eyes intent and guileless. “Please, Niall.”

Niall watched him for a long moment, and then quite suddenly he nodded, the tension that had filled him as he had prepared to leave melting away. 

“I do not recall you being such a sap before,” he muttered, lazy and relaxed, and Irial laughed even as he pulled Niall back against his chest. 

And there they stayed, not for another few minutes but for another few _hours_ until Gabriel stamped up the stairs with coffee and the news that Donia was at the door.

**Author's Note:**

> [My tumblr.](http://thehatofthehatter.tumblr.com/)


End file.
